A Day of Mourning
by Delirium's Child
Summary: A highly improbably, hopefully amusing bit of drabble. Possibly one of Ranger's worst nightmares. The writer would like to suggest that you simply keep on scrolling and pretend you never read this story.
1. Default Chapter

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Day of Mourning

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Disclaimer: I give up, Tracy put this idea in my head. But this is also the fault of the Research Paper of Doom, which is my fault for choosing the stupid topic in the first place. Although if no one had passed the Patriot Act, I wouldn't have chosen it b/c it wouldn't be an issue and then I wouldn't be going slowly mad so I guess this bit of drabble is actually the fault of the Congress of the United States of America. Which means that if you don't like this fic you have to flame them, but thanks to them passing the Patriot Act they can probably throw you in jail for that. In other words: Flame at your own risk.

Oh yeah, and the characters here are not mine. They're Janet's. I'll put them right back where I found them when we're done. Except Ranger. I have to detain him for questioning.

Ahem. Now that the longest disclaimer ever is over with, on to the drabble.

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I walked into Shorty's, ignoring the usual nagging discomfort I always felt in a place like this. I was a double minority here: white and female. Probably I would been served up as lunch normally, but I had a feeling I was tolerated on Ranger's behalf. As enticing as it might be to torment some stupid white girl, it wasn't good sense to piss off her crazed mercenary friend.

I saw Ranger sitting in his usual spot, back to the wall, lurking in the shadows. Typical, I thought and smiled as I headed toward him. He looked more delicious than the pizza the waitress was bringing- hair back in the ponytail, painted-on black t-shirt, black cargos, black boots. His eyes swept over me as I sat down.

I don't have that knock-their-panties-off sex appeal my companion has, but I admit that today I looked hot. My hair was tamed into waves, I had gone light on the make-up with only a little navy eyeliner and lip gloss to highlight my better features, but my low-slung jeans and the tank top definitely made up for it.

"Looking good, Babe,' he said, his mouth turning up in his barely-there smile. I grinned at him.

"A girl can only do flannels and work boots so long before she goes nuts," I said.

"You said you needed to talk to me?" he prodded as he dished out the pizza.

I sighed and took a piece but for once I just kind of looked at it. I wasn't really all that hungry today. I was too nervous.

"Yeah, I did. I mean, I do…" I groaned and pushed the pizza away. Ranger's eyebrow lifted.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

"Fine," I tried to smile. I almost made it, too. "Just nervous?" Ranger smiled again.

"Still scared of me?" I rolled my eyes.

"Only occasionally. But today I'm more scared of what Grandma Bella is going to do to me." He waited patiently for me to explain myself. I rested my chin in my hand and looked at him, meeting his eyes. "I'm breaking up with Joe. Permanently."

Ranger shook his head. "You've done that before."

"No. I mean the final kind of break up. See, there's someone else…" Ranger sat back in his seat. Ah, had his attention now.

"Who?"

I smiled. I couldn't help it. "It's not important. Just someone."

"Stephanie," he said, leaning forward. "Tell me."

Uh-oh, scary mercenary look.

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah. It matters."

"Look, this person and I… we kind of got to be friends a while ago, and it just went somewhere, you know?" I said, and as my mind drifted to that first, perfect night I smiled, my body tingling at the memory. "I fell in love. And I realized, I don't love Joe like that, and I don't think I ever could. It's not anyone's fault, it's just how it is."

"Babe," Ranger was frowning. "I told you to go back to Morelli because-"

"Shh," I cut him off, and reached across the table, to take his hand. "I know. It was good advice Ranger. But things change. I'm not who I was then, and I don't want that life anymore." He looked down at our hands as if he was surprised.

Before he could say anything, though, my cell phone began to play the Charlie's Angels theme. I answered it, and my heart nearly skipped a beat when I heard the voice on the other end.

"No. I haven't told him yet. I'm with Ranger… You what?… Are you okay?… I'll see you in fifteen."

I stood up, and tossed down a few bills for the tip.

"I have to go, Ranger," I said. "It's an emergency."

"Babe," his hand caught my wrist. "I know you might think everything's changed, but my life hasn't, it still doesn't-"

"What are you talking about?" I blinked. Had I lost the thread of this conversation somewhere?

"I mean, I'm not relationship material. Are you still sure you want to break up with Morelli?"

Oh god. He didn't know!

"Ranger… I wasn't talking about you. I mean… I love you and all, seriously I do. But I'm not in love with you either. I'm in love with-" I stopped myself. I thought he knew! How did he not know? Damn it. Well, maybe it would be best to get this over with all in one day.

I met his eyes again, looked into those dark pools that had always fascinated me so much. "I'm in love with Jeanne Ellen. We're moving in together," I said as quickly as I possibly could. Then I grinned as another thought occurred to me. "Hey, you said you'd ruin me for other men," I said with a laugh.

The hand on my wrist went slack, and Ranger's jaw dropped. He rocked backward in his chair, his eyes dazed. If it hadn't been so scary, I would have been laughing my ass off and snapping a Polaroid.

As it was, I turned and fled the restaurant, leaving him to his confusion.

Ranger watched Stephanie walk out the door. He should have followed her- he had a meeting at RangeMan in thirty minutes. He stayed where he was.

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"I'm in love with Jeanne Ellen. We're moving in together."

"I'm in love with Jeanne Ellen."

The words echoed in his mind. He signaled the waitress. "Beer," he said. "And tequila. Double shot."

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"You said you'd ruin me for other men," she laughed in his mind. He cringed and downed the liquor.

Tank found him halfway through the first bottle of tequila.

"Man, what the hell are you doing here?" his friend demanded as he walked toward him, then stopped short when he saw the bottle. "Chrust, Ric. It's barely after noon!"

"She's breaking up with him," he said by way of response. Tank blinked.

"You mean Stephanie and the cop?" At Ranger's nod, he walked closer.

"Shouldn't you be celebrating, man? You been waitin' for that for a while."

"You didn't let me finish. She's breaking up with him for Jeanne Ellen."

Tank stared at him.

"You wanna clarify that one, Ric?"

"Stephanie and Jeanne Ellen are, and I quote, 'in love' and are moving in together."

Tank lowered himself into the seat Stephanie had vacated hours ago. "Give me that bottle," he said softly.

Ranger's lips curled into a smirk as the other man downed several gulps. "Exactly my point." Tank ignored him and waved the waitress over.

"Another bottle of Cuervo," he rumbled.

"Don't you have work to do?" Ranger asked, amused.

"After news like that? That two of the finest asses in Trenton be permanently unavailable? Fuck, boss. It's five o'clock somewhere."

Ranger raised his glass in agreement.

Another hour passed before Joe Morelli stumbled through the door and headed straight for the bar. "Vodka," he ordered. "A full bottle."

The bartender just looked at him. "You sure about that?" The look Joe gave him could have frozen Hell itself. "Guess so. Must be one o' them days," the man said, shaking his head and looked back over to the two men in black guzzling tequila like water. Joe's eyes followed his gaze. Picking up his own bottle, he wandered over.

"Manoso," he said quietly. Ranger grinned at the other man's disheveled state.

"You got the news too, huh?"

"Yeah, I got the news," Joe sighed.

"Take a load off, man," Tank pushed another chair Joe's way. "This is a day of mourning."

"I'll drink to that," he said, taking a painful swig of the vodka.


	2. Ode to a Duck

Ode to a Duck- Day of Mourning Part 2

Blame Suze for the continuation and Tracy for putting the idea in my head in the first place. Personally, I hope they someday inspire yet more chaotically evil thoughts.

Nope, I don't own any of these characters, I am just mutilating them for my own twisted amusement.

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Some days it just don't pay to get out of bed, Ranger reflected as he made his way into Vinnie's. The world was just too damn bright today, and not even his Raybans could dim it down to tolerable levels. Tequila could exact some vicious revenge.

His head was throbbing, his entire body was sore, and he was in one of the worst moods he'd been in outside of a combat situation gone FUBAR. Fuck. He felt like his life was officially FUBAR just now. His ex and his prospective girlfriend were now happily shacked up and no man in the universe had a chance, least of all him.

He took off the sunglasses as he stepped into the blessed darkness of the office. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had decided to dim the lights a little today. Connie was working at her desk, but Lula was sprawled across the couch with something covering her eyes.

"Ladies," he said quietly by way of greeting.

"Unngh. Keep it down, Batman,' Lula moaned. "It be loud enough in here wit' those damn keys a clacking."

"Rough night, Lula?" he asked. Some part of him was glad he wasn't the only one who'd gone on a drinking binge on a Wednesday night. Well, Tank and Morelli had been in on it too, but they both had their reasons. Tank had been hoping for a date with Jeanne Ellen, and Morelli had just had to take the news that his fiancee was dumping him for a bounty hunter. A female bounty hunter, 'Ranger-ette' being Morelli's term for her.

They'd counseled him not to let Jeanne hear him call her that; neither Tank nor Ranger being sure that she wouldn't kill a cop, not even one with Family ties.

Lula had removed her compress to glare up at him.

"Fuckin' A, rough night."

"Problems?"

"What the fuck you think, Batman?" Lula snarled. Ranger glared meaningfully at her and waited for the cringe. She didn't, she just glared back.

"Don't give me that look. Don't scare me none. I already gone to hell, might as well send me to that third world country. Better than livin' round this place."

Ranger frowned and looked at Connie, wondering what had happened while he and the guys were drinking Shorty out of his bar.

"You didn't hear about Stephanie?" Connie's eyebrows were raised in disbelief.

"I-" he looked back a Lula. No, his piece of news wouldn't have incited this, surely. "What about Steph?"

"She's moving in with JEANNE ELLEN!" Lula wailed. "That skanky slut of yours," she added accusingly. Ranger took a cautious step back, realizing that it was entirely possible she might be armed, at least with a stun gun.

"I heard about that," he told them. Lula's glare intensified.

"God damned Cat Woman, taking my woman. I oughtta bust a cap in yo' ass for training her."

This time Ranger's step back was more in the lines of reeling from shock than self preservation. "Your w-" he couldn't say. Christ. Maybe he was still drunk, or passed out and dreaming. That had to be it.

"Damn skippy! She up and left me for that skank!"

"She was with Morelli?" Ranger suggested, more for his own sanity than for calming down the large, angry female in front of him.

"Morelli?" Connie laughed. "Hon, he was a cover! She was too scared to come out, what with her Burg family and all."

"I was patient, I didn't want to pressure her none," Lula sniffled. "She got enough o' that from you stupid men. Damned if maybe you wasn't right after all. No pressure and she went and found that Jeanne Ellen skank the other week down at Venus…" Lula trailed off in a sudden fit of tears.

Connie grabbed the box of tissues off the desk and produced a box of chocolate donuts from somewhere before dashing across the room to her friend's side. "Maybe you better go, Ranger. The files are on my desk."

"Is Vinnie in?"

"Yeah. Go on."

Ranger left the two females to bond, and please God nothing more. He wasn't sure he could take it if every female he knew around her really started turning up gay. Connie gay would just be too much.

Vinnie was sitting at his desk, staring mournfully at a picture he held in his hands, and Ranger could see the man had been crying. Christ. What kind of acid was God on this week?

He cleared his throat to get the little weasel's attention. Vinnie raised a hand and waved a little in a 'go on' motion, but his eyes never left the picture.

"Vinnie, about that job you wanted us to-" he stopped as Vinnie broke down into a sob.

"She was so young!"

"Excuse me?"

"We used to go swimming every day. You couldn't hardly get her out of that pool, you know?" Vinnie wiped away his tears and touched the picture reverently. "She was so little and tiny… Why do they have to grow up so fast?"

Ranger frowned, knowing Vinnie didn't have kids. That was a good thing for the species, probably, but it didn't explain this conversation.

"One day you're helping them learn to walk and the next day they're off flying to god knows where and you can't…" he swallowed hard, and grabbed a tissue out of the box beside him. "I'm gonna kill that old bastard," he muttered.

Ranger let him have few moments to collect himself before he tried again. "I'm here about that job you wanted done…"

"Oh. The job. Nevermind. It wasn't necessary after all," Vinnie sighed and put the picture back on his desk. "But there's another one. I think you might even enjoy yourselves with this one…" he scrounged through the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a large manilla folder and a couple envelopes and held them out.

Ranger stepped over and took the items, catching a glimpse of the picture as he did so. Harry the Hammer and a couple goons in hunting gear, showing off the ducks they'd apparently been hunting. He looked from it to Vinnie and raised an eyebrow.

Vinnie's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Ranger looked down at the folder and envelopes in his hands. He didn't want to know. He really didn't. "I'll let you know about the job by the end of the week."

He walked around Vinnie's desk and headed for the back door. No way was he going through the front again.

"Lula still in mourning?" Vinnie asked before he made it out. Ranger looked back at the man's ferret-like features, curled into their usual smug expression.

"Yeah." And she ain't the only one, he added silently.

He opened the door and ambled back around to the parking lot. Maybe it was time for a change of pace, this place was getting too weird for him. Maybe it was time to go to Miami for a while. He didn't want to be around when Trenton got to hosting a gay pride festival…

'I didn't want to pressure her none..'

Lula and Stephanie? Stephanie was with…

Ranger stopped in his tracks, frozen in the horror of dawning realization.

Stephanie and Lula.

'He was a cover…'

Ranger pulled out his cell phone. If he had to live with this, so did Morelli.

"Yo. I think you need to drop by Vinnie's. Oh, yeah, it's important… You need to ask Lula…"


	3. Mourning After

The Mourning After aka The Shower Sequence

ahem. The list of blamees is getting longer. Tracy for the original idea of gay flannel Stephanie, Suze for the Gay Lula, and now Rachel and Joanne for this bit. 

No, I am not JE. I am a fan of hers, and am respectfully borrowing and mutilating her characters for the sheer twisted joy of it. Yes, this is insanely implausible. Think of it as a what-if, the what if being: What if Janet got juiced up, took some crack, added some LSD, a case of Red Bull, a shot of tequila, a tab of acid, some X, and maybe a little bit of Pot, and a jar of Kool-Aide, then played with some glitter pens and decided to write a Stephanie Plum story.

Furthermore, this ending may only make sense to fans of Dallas or those who were around on the PlumFanFiction boards on yahoo.

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Morelli was staring into the bottle of Jack Daniels black like it might yield up the meaning of life at any moment. Which, as anyone who has so consulted a bottle of Jack Daniels black knows, it eventually will. Oh, it might take a few added shots of tequila, and you probably won't remember it in the morning, but you will remember the feeling of exultation and the 'great idea' you have immediately afterward.

Generally the damage inflicted by the 'great idea' is directly proportional to the desperation of the drinker to escape their problems. This was Morelli's second bottle, and he was eyeing the Gray Goose next to it. He planned on escaping to Mars and therefore his great idea was very likely to be equivalent to the collision of two continents at the exact moment of the planetary alignment foretelling the outbreak of World War 3 as predicted by… some old crazy guy.

"She was only with me to cover up her ongoing affair with a large former hooker and then she dumped both of us for Cat Woman?" He gulped down the whiskey and grabbed the bottle of Gray Goose. God, as far as he was concerned, had obviously taken a holiday and was letting Jerry Springer write the plot. Or the All Powerful was experimenting with some of the mind-altering chemicals he had created. Which would, actually explain the origin of platypi, so maybe this wasn't the first time.

He was puzzling the events of the last week over in his head, comparing them to the origin of the platypus, and felt he was very close to discovering something, or at least developing some idea of what to do. His companions, men who he'd previously disdained as second-rate, as outlaws and thugs, sympathetically raised their glasses at his pronouncement. One of them had just had his hopes for a date with the aforementioned Cat Woman crushed, and the other was going through the equally nasty shock of realizing two flames had both gone gay. Together.

They were both on their second bottles of Captain Morgan, also renowned for his inspirational abilities, and both men were beginning to feel quite poetic about the universe in general. Considering their identities and professions, this was almost miraculous, although the Pope would probably have begged to differ. Probably the Pope and a good many cardinals would have used words more akin to 'diabolical.'

"Hey, man, look on the bright side," suggested Morelli's larger companion. The man was at least six foot five and built like the proverbial brick shithouse or more aptly, a tank. Hence, his street name and the only moniker known to Morelli and anyone else in Trenton with the possible exception of the third companion who happened to be Tank's boss and therefore had access to payroll information. Unless he was paid in cash. Always a possibility with people of his sort. "See, you ain't the only ones whose love life just got shot to shit." He laughed heartily at his own joke.

"Tank!" The second companion glared at his larger friend and employee.

"Aw, come on, Ric, everyone knows about the duck."

Morelli's ears perked up at the mention of ducks. Not willingly, of course, but he was a Burg boy, and gossip was his second nature. "Duck? What's Vinnie up to?"

Ranger sighed and looked again at Tank. He was Cuban-American, so his double dose of gossip genes had cancelled one another out. Or rather, he felt gossiping should be done in Spanish. Joe's eyes narrowed.

"You owe me, Manoso. You set me up today, sending me into that madhouse. I barely made it out alive."

"I thought she was too hung over to do that much damage." Ranger had the grace to at least sound a little apologetic. Morelli snorted.

"A good thing a couple of the other bounty hunters showed up and got her off me. I don't think my ribs were gonna last much longer." He rubbed his still-bruised chest. "The Patriots ought to hire her as a line backer."

"Vinnie was really, um, upset today," Tank said, grinning widely. Morelli blinked and tried to focus, because in the shadowy depths of Shorty's bar, Tank's midnight dark skin blended in, leaving Joe with the impression he was speaking to a Cheshire cat with a Marlboro habbit.

"He gets upset?" Morelli wondered aloud. "I wasn't aware Vinnie had feelings…"

"Oh yeah. Ranger said he was crying even!"

"Someone killed Joyce Bernhardt?" Joe asked, confused. "I think I would have heard about that one. Half the girls in the Burg would be dancing in the streets."

"No, not Joyce. Vinnie got a real distressing photo from his father in law…" Tank chortled and was now laughing too hard to continue.

"Apparently Harry went duck hunting," Ranger supplied.

Joe had just taken a sip of the Gray Goose and nearly choked himself on it. Tank clapped him on the back until his brain rattled, but the coughing stopped.

"A weasel may love a duck…" Joe said thoughtfully when he was able to speak again. Somehow the news improved his mood, as long as he didn't think too much about being in love with a duck. Then again, being in love with human females wasn't paying off too well either.

"To duck hunters everywhere," Ranger said, raising his glass in a salute.

They all touched glasses and finished their drinks. There was a quiet time as they all pondered the tragedy of the duck, the larger tragedy of human sexuality, and more importantly the tragedy of the football game they were watching. Jaguars v. Ravens. A few more drinks and it was going to be downright hilarious.

As fate would have it, a few more drinks was just what was needed for many things to go out of focus as well, and a few more things to come blearily swimming into focus.

"Fuck relationships," Joe announced to the room at large. "I'm through. You find the one girl you could spend time with, the one girl who makes you think about settling down with and having kids with and all she does is get fuckin' wilder. Until you look like some damned conservative compared to her, and she thinks you're boring! I'm not boring, damn it. I was just tired of all the runaround. Now all she wants to do is party. She used to put her cookie jar in the kitchen and talk about curtains. Fuck.

"Now it's all about fuckin' bounties and cars and… Jeanne Ellen. I knew there was a reason she was all into flannel and heavy metal. I knew it! I just didn't look for the signs. I should have been... what's that you always told her, Ranger?"

"More aware of your surroundings?" Ranger's lips quirked in his equivalent of a grin.

"Nah, she took you both. She took everybody, man," Tank said amiably. "She had the world fooled. I bet she even had herself fooled."

"Not Lula though," Morelli shuddered. "I am so glad no one got that on tape."

"I dunno," Tank looked thoughtful. "It might have been worth a lot if you got it on the internet…" Ranger looked ill.

"You know what," Joe stood up, taking his bottle of vodka firmly in hand and swaying only a little. "I have a great idea!"

The other two raised their eyebrows and awaited the announcement.

"God, I will never drink again," Joe moaned and rolled over. He was in a bed. A very soft, very large, very not-his bed. He cringed inwardly, knowing better than to attempt the outward version of that motion in this condition. He lay there for a time, letting his mind filter into alertness, learning to work around the throbbing pain in his head. It didn't really work, but it at least got him up to a fraction of his normal functions. For instance he learned that aside from the agony in his head, his body was in contact with something besides bedding, and he needed to pee.

It was the something that was not bedding which had him worried. Joe moaned inwardly, the outward moan earlier having set off the pounding of his brain into mush. He wasn't one to take chances this early in the day. Unfortunately it might not be that early in the day, and he needed to know where he was and who the something beside him might be.

He was hoping he'd run into Terri Gillman sometime last night, but he had a niggling suspicion that he hadn't. The only bad thing about this was it led to the realization that, from the time shortly after he announced his 'great idea' until waking up in this bed, he had not a god damned single solitary idea of where he had been or who he had met. It had been a very, very long time since he had had this particular problem. He tried to remember how he used to cope with it.

Something was making a loud and hideous racket. It sounded like a cell phone. His cell phone. Fuck. He opened his eyes and sat up. The world spun, tilted, righted itself long enough to lull him into a sense of safety and an attempt to stand. The world gleefully spun itself around again and Joe ended up on the floor, bruising his knee in the process.

"I'm still drunk. Wonderful," he muttered as he pawed through a lump of muddy material that might have been his pants in a former life. The cell phone was stuffed into a pocket, ringing its silicone heart out. "What?" he growled into it after flipping it open.

"Joe? Is that you?" Carl's voice sounded relieved.

"Yeah. I think so. I might need some coffee before I say for certain."

"Look, um, Joe, we need you to call Vinnie…. " there was a conversation in the background . "And could you call Eddie's old lady and tell her he's undercover or something?"

Joe held his head in his hand and tried to force his aching brain to follow the conversation. "Vinnie?"

"Yeah. We need bonded out. Me and Big Dog, and Eddie, and Ranger's guys… what's your names?… Cal and Junior."

"Okay. Bonded out of where? Who the fuck arrests cops?"

"Umm.. well, see, we ain't exactly in the states…" Joe switched the phone to his other ear.

"You aren't in the state? Ok, which state?"

"Ahem… no, I mean the US. We ain't in the US."

"Where the fuck are you? How'd you get out of the US?"

"We're in Mexicali. Apparently they think we burned down a whorehouse last night and.."

"No. Stop. I don't want to know how you got there or why you went to a Mexicali whorehouse. I'll call Vinnie."

Joe disconnected and sat staring at the phone. No way was he calling Shirley. Not even for Gazarra's soul.

"Joseph?" a woman's voice asked softly. "What's happening?" Oh god, he knew that voice. Joe stared at the doorway, with the emergency procedures posted on it. A hotel with her… he was naked. Oh fuck. Oh God. Oh hell. This was hell.

He didn't want to turn around. He wanted to take his former pants, his phone and just bolt out that door. The door to salvation. What _had_ they done last night?

Against his better judgement and every instinct of self-preservation, he turned his head to know if he was right. He was praying he had just hallucinated the sound and tone of the voice.

Maybe he should have gone to church more often…

"Mrs. Plum…?" he squeaked like a twelve-year-old boy caught with his dad's Penthouse.

"Oh, please. After last night, it's just Ellen. But not in front of Frank. I don't want him knowing anything about this…"

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Tank woke up to the headache from hell and the unique sore muscles acquired through sleeping in a very unnatural position on a hard surface. He rubbed his eyes until they cooperated and opened, then began rubbing his neck so that it would cooperate and move.

He froze when he realized what his eyes had opened to. He rubbed them again, and tried it a second time.

Same result.

He was staring at branches. And leaves. And blue sky. He looked down, onto a patch of mowed grass. He looked around again. He was in a tree, in the middle of a pasture. A black Porsche was parked a little ways off.

Tank's eyes closed again. He didn't want to know, he really didn't. He had almost convinced his body to pass out again when the door of the Porsche opened and a figure emerged. A small figure dressed in purple.

"Hey hotstuff!" she yelled. "How'd you get all the way up there?" She was walking closer, the sunlight shining on her purple-tinted hair. Tank sat back in shock, forgetting his precarious position, and found himself falling.

He landed on his back, the air rushing out of his lungs in a loud "oooof."

"Well, damn, if you studs don't know how to show a girl a good time," she cackled. "I ain't had no one fall out of a tree for me before…"

Tank coughed and wheezed at her in response. When air finally began to refill his large lungs, he pushed away the sudden urge to scream and instead settled for asking a relatively simple question. "Ah… Mrs. Mazur… Where are we?"

The old lady frowned at him, and looked at their surroundings before looking back at him sternly. "You know, you oughtn't drink if you can't hold you liquor," she scolded.

"Sorry ma'am," he replied, sitting up carefully.

"Well now you know. And for your information, we're in Pennsylvania, near as I can tell."

"You don't know?"

"You weren't the only one drinking like a fish last night, sonny. But I'm old, so it's allowed. I got all kinds of stuff to forget."

He had to smile at that, then realized just who he was with. Thank god they hadn't woken up in bed or naked. He shuddered violently.

"Any idea why you went tree climbing last night, Tank?" She asked, helping him to his feet. Well, it was more she held his arm while he hoisted himself u and tried not to notice her feeling him up on the way.

"Not a clue. My head feels like it's getting pounded to hell."

"We need to get you some McDonald's. Whose car we in?"

"I have an idea," Tank said as they approached the black Porsche. "I'm not too sure he's gonna be real thrilled with us having it though…" he was contemplating just how badly his boss was going to take the news when his pocket began to vibrate. He glanced at the display and frowned at the unfamiliar number. "Yo."

"Tank? Where the hell you at? We can't find Ranger, Cal, Junior, or half the other guys. And most of the Trenton PD is missint too. Eddie Gazarra's wife is storming Governor Juniak's office… and Stephanie Plum's grandma is missing too."

"Slow down Santos. I don't know where Ranger or the rest of them are, but I think I'm somewhere in Pennsylvania. And I've got his Porsche."

"What the fuck did you do last night?" awe was creeping into Lester's voice.

"I don't have a god damned clue. But I woke up in a field, in a tree, with a Porsche… and Stephanie's grandma." There was a howl of laughter from the other end of the phone.

"I'd have slept in the tree too, man."

"Shut up."

"Now that is a whole new kind of drunk, Tank my man. What you did is cross country, tree-climbing, granny-escaping drunk!"

Tank made an angry noise and disconnected. Mrs. Mazur looked at him expectantly. "What about McDonald's?" he asked.

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"I'm never drinking again," Ranger swore, keeping his head firmly buried in the pillow. He hadn't been this hung-over in a decade. What the hell had they done last night? He remembered being at Shorty's, and Morelli had had a 'great idea'… that somehow ended up with half the police department being invited, and almost all his RangeMan crew…and then everything got a little hazy. At least he was in his own apartment, in his own bed. Naked…

After a suitable amount of time had passed to get used to the intense agony of a second-day hangover, he opened his eyes and attempted to move. It worked, and he leaned up to look at the clock. He had immediate cause to regret his actions, and fervently wished he'd remained stationary.

The clock, in hideous, annoying, painfully bright numbers, declared it to be noon. Ranger leveled a glare on it that would have sent any sane inanimate object screaming for the hills. At the clock's impertinent lack of action, Ranger's arm sent it sailing off the nightstand. Its final revenge was the loud crack it made as it hit the floor, a sound that reverberated through his skull and drove him back down into the pillow. But not before he noticed a few things out of place: a pile of clothing on the floor, a spike heel lay abandoned by the door… and the distant sound of the shower running.

Ranger closed his eyes and began to pray. He knew the stories about nights like this. Usually they ended with the phrase "coyote ugly" coming into play. He remained in that position, face down in the pillow, still as death-warmed-over, and waited until the shower was shut off. He was debating grabbing some clothes and making a run for it, but was afraid too much movement was going to send his stomach into revolt. He was screwed.

The door to the bathroom opened and someone padded out. A light step, so it couldn't have been Lula. And it wasn't a man. Ranger shuddered, where the hell had that thought come from??

As the person moved around the room, curiosity finally got the better of him and he slowly sat up to see who was the mystery guest was. A shapely figure, wrapped in a towel was sorting through the pile of clothes on the floor. Hm, definitely not bad from this angle…

She pulled off the towel that was turbaned around he head, allowing a long tangled mess of damp brown curls to fall across her back. Ranger sighed, well that explained that. Same hair, same figure. He hoped he hadn't done anything too embarrassing, like using the wrong name… As if sensing she was being watched, the woman turned around to face him.

His heart skipped a beat, or at least it felt like it did. He blinked, and wondered if he was still drunk. His guest frowned and glared at him.

"It can't be that scary can it?" she demanded, reaching up to touch her hair self-consciously. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. "What's wrong then? You…" she stopped and he saw the fear flash through her eyes. "You regret last night, don't you?"

Regret last… oh, fuck. He really wished he remembered last night…

"No, no that's not it. I'm just… surprised you're here.. I thought you were… What happened to Jeanne Ellen?"

Stephanie's eyes went from worried to stunned. She quickly walked to the bed and took his wrist, apparently checking his pulse. "Ranger? Are you feeling okay?"

"You moved in with Jeanne Ellen?"

Stephanie laughed, then collapsed on the bed in a fit of giggles.

Ranger shook his head, trying to think straight. "That's why we've all spent the last two days drunk. You told me, at Shorty's, you loved Jeanne Ellen. You were moving in with her. You love each other."

"Of course I love Jeanne Ellen! She's my sister."

He stared at her again, and tried to process the information. The part of his brain devoted to that, however, simply seemed to give up, and he got the impression it had decided to take a sabbatical to Katmandu and would call when it felt damned good and ready. He thought maybe it had had the best idea so far, and considered joining it.

Then Stephanie leaned in and kissed him. Katmandu could wait a few more hours…

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Yes, exactly right- this doesn't actually make sense. But if the highly paid writers of Dallas could do it, so can I. And I did it for free. Aren't you happy?


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